Vinaya Zev
= Who is Vinaya Zev? = A soft clatter of stainless steel against fine restaurant ceramic delays further silence from the empty cafe terrace. The ageless, sweet-faced woman in question withdraws her hand from the dishware carefully, practiced, but with no particular grace. Yet, there is artifice in the ordinary movement - her simple black blouse remains thus unmarred, and is striking against the cool colors of the terrace. It's almost as if she can read every thought, acting accordingly to coax the full, absolute attention of her audience. And then she has you. Shifting slightly, the woman laces her fingers to the side, canting her head; her styled, brunette hair falls on cue. The ethnically curious green of her eyes finally begin to move: They roll thoughtfully from the cream swirls of her gently-stirred breakfast tea - now almost the color of her skin - to some other point just beyond the periphery. The prompt still hangs heavily in the air, pregnant with anticipation, but at last she offers some hint of gratification, like the wait should make even the tiniest sliver of information seem worthwhile. "Tabula Rasa," she says. "Vinaya Zev is nobody." But before further inquiry can reveal anything useful, her hands disentangle, and a single finger lifts and is pressed gently to the woman's glossy lips. Somehow, the meaning is emphatic, though the gesture is not. Her free hand begins to lift the ivory teacup as she smiles, eyes focused forward now. "Spoilers," she adds. = History = With audience attention now firmly in her purview, the woman is careful to not let her grasp slip. She sips from her tea only briefly, movingly silently her finger from lips to air. The moment passes, and the cup clinks absently against its saucer. Finally, her focus seems fully directed towards the unspoken question, and she begins: "Vinaya Zev is as real on the record as you, our server, or any other person who has no particular reason to think the case otherwise." She pauses, allowing the depth of her statement to sink in; the smile has yet to leave her lips. "But as I'm sure you've noticed my implication: What is "real" is not always "truth." She dips her head, looking up seriously. "And vice versa." On the Record Vinaya Zev was born to a small, second-generation immigrant family with a small secret and comfortable means. They had no real want for money, though the ebb and flow of the economy was hardly any kinder to them than anyone else. Vinaya's older brother - her only sibling - was a man of no particular note: He never finished college, wandered about, fell into crime, grew up, and then regretted his mistakes. He eventually found his way back home to help support his family and little sister, making her expensive college education one of the best. Sadly, he never saw the end of it. I don't need to go into detail, as all of this can be found in the federal archives, but some ex-partners of his felt cheated because of a years-past drug-related theft of theirs gone bad. There were arguments over several weeks, and eventually murder by crime of passion. Her brother's death compelled the then college-bound Vinaya to perform better academically than his life ever did. Despite his advice to her, of course, she partied, got a DUI stamped on her traffic record, and almost failed a class or two. Some might have even called her 'naughty.' Her brother's death quickly inspired her to alter her views, however, and the next few years of hard study resulted with her graduating within the top 10% of her class at Harvard. An advanced degree was on her plate next. She could go anywhere. Vinaya Zev, 26. Criminal Justice never worked for her. Though she wanted badly to find her brother's murderer and avenge his death, the anger waned, and she found herself looking higher. Maybe she could work within the system. Do some good. So she got her Law Degree in Boston. And then an MBA in New York. She passed the Bar exam, and worked through every certification and internship she could manage until the last of her late brother's college savings ran out. Then, tragically, her parents died. There was a house fire; the rescue teams didn't make it in time. All of the family's physical memories went up in smoke: Albums, scrap books, high school paintings. While arson was suspected, there was no real proof, and so for her own sanity, Vinaya chalked it up to terrible misfortune and bad karma so she could heal. With nothing on the East Coast left for her, it was time to move on and start over. Not quite ready to throw herself out there as a celebrity lawyer or business mogul (despite offers), she decided some further professional experience was necessary. Something she could lose herself in. So after clearing up a few details, cashing in some rather large favors to bury her past (both psychologically and legally) as deep as possible, and taking a mental siesta in the Caribbean, she then wrote to David Green. Tabula Rasa. On the Gnawers "Thus," the woman clears her throat slightly, parched from the lengthy exposition. She lifts the ivory teacup from its repose and continues, "Here I am!" An expressive gesture with her free hand maintains the action of her comment while she sips. "I don't mean to imply that Vinaya had no friends. Ah, but she had many! And still does. The catch is that all of them are real, while some of them are not." The paradox lingers as the teacup is again replaced, and the woman calmly rests her chin against the back of a hand, watching. "Finding David Green's name was no coincidence. Remember that 'small' family secret I mentioned? To be complicated," she laughs, gently tucking some bangs behind an ear to draw attention away from her eyes, then back, "That would be the Bone Gnawers." "The Zev family relation to the Garou is technically off the official 'record,' of course, but it's there, should one know what they're looking for. Throughout Vinaya's life, the Gnawers were a distant truth: At first some fantastic construction of her parent's when she was young, and then later a guiding hand that helped her work through all that grief." "There was one in particular who helped her," the woman says, smiling warmly. "His name was Albert Singer. But you'll hear more of him later. In any event, the Garou nation and Gnawer tribe-at-large would fail to recall her or her family until shortly before David Green." "She was nobody, after all." Spoilers The woman takes a moment to check her watch, allowing a sort of intermission of thought and dramatic pause to rumble in the silence. "Now, for the truth." The remainder of her tea is sipped to completion, and the woman takes a deep breath as if preparing for a plunge. The teacup clinks against the saucer one final time. "This is what actually happened." Sita Desai My birth name is Sita Desai. I was a single child, pampered, spoiled. All the money I needed was provided, and my development up through childhood and adolescence is of little note. Our family had no secrets, no supernatural connections. We were a normal first generation immigrant family from India. With the exception of one small detail: I could read people's thoughts. Oh, it wasn't so grand a thing as I'm sure you're thinking. Thankfully, to any great extent, the very best I could manage to "read" was a complex emotion, a few words or images here and there. It was hardly a great, life-changing occurrence, and I never read anything so horrifying to a teenager as to utterly destroy my self-esteem. Had the power manifested as anything stronger, however... well, you'd likely be talking to a very different, broken woman. The things people think are not always the most kind. In any event, being 'psychic' didn't become particularly important until my first professional position. But I'll come back to that in a moment. It's true: I did party some in college, but never received any sort of notable reputation aside from whatever my handful of boyfriends prattled on about. Sororities weren't for me: I was far too much concerned with perfection - of making my parents proud and proving to my overbearing mother that I was going to make something of myself. Every holiday there was a comment about how, back home - in India, of course - daughters my age would be taking care of their mothers and showering them with gifts. Boy, did I show her. Big Brother The best mistake I ever made was at a job fair in my third year of undergraduate work. What was the harm in reading a few minds to see what the presenters were looking for, what they thought of certain students? I never could have foreseen at the time how it would be possible any of them to be telepathic like myself. But one of them was. And he caught me. I barely had any chance to leave before being hunted down and pulled aside by a certain Faraz Akbari. He worked for Jacob Anderson of Insight Investments, an outrageously successful stock-playing firm out of Chicago. And he invited me out for coffee. Me, of all people. Of course I went. It didn't hurt that he was cute. At first I figured he was just trying to pick up some easy, bright-eyed college chick desperate for a lead into the corporate world. But then he said those magic words - We want someone with your talent - in my head, and I was sold. It's funny how you never realize something's bothering you until the opportunity comes along to do something about it. I did feel different and a little insecure. I wanted to train and strengthen my telepathy, but had no idea how to go about doing so. 'Raz, as he liked to be called, immediately provided me with an internship in Chicago. It required a move and ditching my degree for awhile, but with the offer of a skilled and cute teacher, there was hardly a doubt on my mind. What can I say? I was 21. There were only so many psychics at the corporation - maybe 10 of us, including 'Raz, Anderson, and the president Chase Nixon. But that was enough to chart the ebbs and flow of the economy with only the tiniest margin of error. I met all of them, and they were ecstatic to have more talent in their inner circle - and such raw talent at that. They could mold me, shape me into an information extractor, whatever they wanted. Now I don't want to give you the wrong idea. The business was shady, sure, and they had some tendrils into the underworld - mostly to seek out other psychics. But these were still good people - pushing a bit hard against the sin of avarice, maybe, but hardly malevolent. In the following years, I made a great deal of money (and finally shut up my mother). Most of my time was occupied with an academic study curriculum as constructed by Anderson and Nixon, and telepathic training with 'Raz. I mastered law, finance, politics... anything my bosses could think of that would benefit the company. After all, if I was going to extract information, I should know what the hell to look for. While I saw all the psychics as a kind of family, I came to see 'Raz as somewhere between big brother and love interest. He called me his 'Ayaz,' his loyal follower and most beloved. We would spend hours reading each-other's thoughts, the intimacy of which I can't really describe in words. He was important to me. So when he decided to leave for the Marsh Institute, I was right there behind him. That would be the worst mistake of my life. "The Wolf" I spent many years working for Insight Investments, and I made them more money than I care to think about. So when I said I wanted to do something more with my life, something for the greater good, the company was remiss to see me go, but guaranteed a place for me should I ever wish to come back. They knew I was loyal, and I still am. There was no risk of me spilling corporate secrets to competitors; I'd sooner back stab my own family. But the Marsh Institute provided me with the unique opportunity to finely-tune my psychic powers even further, and perhaps do some good while I was at it. 'Raz heard on the psychic grapevine that the Institute needed some skilled agents to fish out corruption in the government, on the streets, and wherever the Institute saw reason to note this information for some greater benefit. And we all knew the Institute secretly collected the best psychics they could find. Where better to find new teachers? By this time, I had come to be known as something of a white collar predator. My name was always strictly secret of course, Insight Investments had made sure of that. But popular rumor had nicknamed me 'The Wolf,' as I was very good about blowing down houses made of straw. The Glass Walkers of the Garou Nation were not immune to this, though I only very rarely had any reason to disrupt their schedules. From what I saw, they were mostly good people. I mention the Walkers because it was from a contact within one of their companies that I was introduced to the Bone Gnawers and Albert Singer. This was before I started working for the Marsh Institute, and needed some help sabotaging a dirty firm that just happened to be something the Garou insisted was "bane-infested." Call me ethically bound to the law - I felt it my duty to do something about downright nasty companies like this. Of course, the law says nothing about psychic involvement, so don't go finger-pointing at me, now. After that meeting, Albert and I grew close. We had an... arrangement to suit our mutual physical needs. The man was grizzled, sarcastic, and completely irreverent. He was also desperately attractive. Sometimes he'd help me on a case, sometimes I'd help him and his tribe, and sometimes... we'd help each-other. In private. In the move from Insight Investments to the Marsh Institute, I found myself becoming more and more involved in the Gnawer's affairs. They weren't exactly white-collar, but I could get them places, feed them information, and discreetly push a red button or two if something needed to explode while they were otherwise engaged. I found myself enjoying how I could walk between the strata - from corporate espionage to finding shelter for the homeless. And I have to say, Albert never failed to provide excitement. While it's true I perhaps had more in common with the Walkers, they often disdained my help, quoting their 'Litany' and their 'Veil' and how persons such as myself often become the very sort of white-collar, wyrm-tainted criminal they were fighting against. Only Albert really knew about the whistle-blowing I pulled on the Walker companies occasionally, and he wasn't telling. So that aside, I always assumed they just had their own sorts of 'abilities' to do the same things I did, and simply found my help superfluous when I didn't have information they needed. While I could respect the notion, I hardly appreciated the sentiment. Sadly, their prediction wasn't far off. Checking Out I realize I've failed to mention 'Raz for a while. This isn't because he ceased to be important to me. On the contrary, he's precisely the reason why I'm here, right now. My time at the Marsh Institute is best summarized by the words 'bad' and 'ass.' Combine them as you will, but I'll just say the Institute was not as altruistic as I had hoped. 'Raz and I were partnered to ferret out corruption as we had intended, receiving training on the side. Our primary objective, however, was to hunt for other psychics and 'help' them by bringing them to the Institute. This often occurred by contriving situations where it became only in the best interests of the target to come willingly. I'm not proud of those moments. I'll only defend myself by saying I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. The Institute's subtle psychic coercion didn't help either, though I didn't become aware of that until later. Albert was the first to become suspicious. I still saw him just as often, but was ceasing to be the sweet-but-sassy whistle blower, and turning into a follower of what he described as the 'Rat God.' If the Gnawers needed something done, I would help make it happen. If this required violence, destruction, and other unsavory occupational hazards, then so be it. I had become rigorous in my pursuit of justice and destroying 'evil,' and while Albert was hardly put off, he said to me - This isn't you. I think now I was overcompensating for some of the things the Institute asked me to do: Demanding justice with the Gnawers since I didn't truly feel I was making it happen otherwise. 'Raz knew about my trysts with Albert. How could he not? We read each-other's minds as an exercise almost every night. And it wasn't as if he were a celibate lotus-blossom, himself. But that didn't mean we loved each other any less. So on one such night, after diving deeper into my mind that was usual, he said to me: Go to him, my Ayaz. Get out. By now, we both knew there was no leaving the Institute. The inner cabal of psychics had dug themselves so deep they couldn't have anyone outside knowing what they were really up to: High-profile blackmail, leading on key persons by supplying tweaked thinktank information so policies might be passed in their favor. Murder. And of course, the aforementioned psychic coercion. The two of us were lucky: We could see the worst of it in the cabal's minds before it came to full bear. Our loyalty had wavered, and they knew that. First would come the blackmail, and then hypnosis, or whatever they might conjure up to make us willing slaves. They threatened my family; I never did get the chance to discover who they had threatened for him. So I ran. 'Raz didn't give me any other choice. If I wanted to help him, I needed allies, and all I had was Albert; I wouldn't dare introduce the Institute to the psychics at Insight Investments by asking for their help, and none of my other contacts had any real way to help me. Of course he took me in, and I loved him for that. But what forever strained our relationship is what happened next. He couldn't save my family. They're not kin, he tried to argue, knowing full well that I wasn't technically kin either. The problem was in the scope: My parents were far away, and while Albert spat on certain aspects of the Litany, there were some things he just couldn't risk - the safety and secrecy of his own tribe, for starters, not to mention potential exposure of the Garou Nation at-large. He continued: What happens if a Telepath like you meets whoever I send to rescue your family? The Garou had spirits, magic of their own, I argued. But he refused to recant: At any cost, he said to me. Words I, myself had echoed recently in response to someone else's pain, someone else's family. This is not you, he said again. This is why. At that point, I made a decision. I had to save 'Raz. There was no practical way I could make it to my family and save them myself - assuming I could - before the Institute enslaved 'Raz and found out all about Albert anyways. 'Raz had been in my head. He knew. I couldn't stand the thought of losing everybody. So I went back. Back to the Institute. And I went alone. The Institute complex wasn't difficult to break into. Maybe they wanted me to break in, to catch me. Regardless, everything was much the way I had left it. The room 'Raz and I shared was untouched, but I could feel that something was different. Inside, I found him, suiting up for a mission. Hurry up and get ready, love, he said. We've got a job to do. Love, he said. Not Ayaz. I looked into his mind one last time, and what I found was not the man I knew. He had always been the better of the two of us, however, and he looked into my head first. We both drew our guns. But this fake 'Raz had not expected the intensity of my emotion - how much this hurt. He flinched. Two shots rang out. "Ayaz" becomes "Aya Z." I remember standing there for awhile, bleeding from the shoulder. 'Raz was dead, on the floor. I know I went into shock, because I don't even remember where I shot him, or how I got out of the Institute complex; but I did. I remember waking up next to Albert, in his makeshift bed at some derelict warehouse. My shoulder wasn't wounded anymore; Albert said a tribe-mate had taken care of that. Your parents are dead, he said. I knew it already; I felt it. Albert explained that my father fought back, when the Institute came for them. Somehow, he had resisted coercion. Everyone involved died in a resulting house fire, the specifics of which were unknown, and are likely to remain so. Albert said he was proud of my family, even if I wasn't. And if it's any consolation, I know what you did, he added. It wasn't. But from looking into 'Raz' mind, I knew he hadn't yet been asked the right questions. Insight Investments was safe. The Garou... were safe. I remember feeling I was watching a television drama - this couldn't really be my life. But I told Albert what I remembered, and he held me for a long time after that. I was a hero to the tribe, and savior for Albert's ass. I had somehow gained 'renown,' they told me. Not to mention, had the information leaked, it would have been on Albert, so he was left with only one recourse, as killing me was hardly an option. Too much death, he said. I believe him. So the tribe adopted me, instead. There was a big ceremony with lots of pizza and terrible beer. I met two spirits that night, the first was an avatar of Rat, Albert told me, the second was something called a wyldling. Through a theurge acting as guide and translator, I met and understood Rat, and the things she said resonated with me. Survival, freedom, practicality. Doing what's necessary to keep Gaia and those tenets safe. More things were said - thanks and promises on my part, but it's not important. The wyldling I didn't understand at all, even though it did something to me - as a big favor to Albert, I'm told. He'd be doing something called 'chiminage' for quite some time. Anyways, that same theurge was there, making sure nothing went wrong. I got the feeling wyldlings tend to do their own sort of thing. I told it I prefer antlers on my head. The theurge didn't think I was very funny. Finally, I changed my name. Tabula Rasa. Current Events The woman takes a deep breath and languidly begins to push herself up off the white wicker chair. Smiling wanly, she collects her purse. "Well, I think I've gone on for long enough. Suffice to say, I had enough favors still floating around to bury my previous life completely, and override it with another. Insight Investments helped, and the Gnawers that know - which are few - aren't telling. I'm one of theirs now." A soft rattle emits from the chair as it is neatly replaced beneath the table, and her purse is shouldered. "Oh, Albert? I still love him. But as you might imagine... it's hard for me to be around him, considering what he couldn't do for my family. The truth is, I don't blame him... but then I do." Another breath, and then a stronger smile; she truly is quite pretty. "Anyways, thanks for listening to all this, and if you'd like to talk further, here's my card." An easy movement produces a small rectangle of card stock from her purse. She tips her head and then turns, a series of measured steps tapping against pavement, echoing softly as she rounds the corner of the cafe to hail a taxi. The card reads, over the faded background of a howling wolf: Vinaya Zev, PA. Don't let work defeat you. Just call your P-Aya Z. She'll save the day. (xxx)xxx.xxxx = Sheet = Attributes: : Physical: Strength 2, Dexterity 2, Stamina 2 (3) : Social: Charisma 3, Manipulation 3, Appearance 4 (4+3) : Mental: Perception 4, Intelligence 3, Wits 3 (6+1) Abilities: : Talents: Empathy 3, Expression 2, Insight 2, Integrity 2, Persuasion 2, Sensitivity 2, Subterfuge 3, Vigilance 1. (11/6) : Skills: Etiquette 1, Marksmanship 2 (Firearms), Research 1. (4/0) : Knowledges: Computer 1, Finance 2, Investigations 3, Law 2, Linguistics 1 (Mother's Tongue), Lore 1 (Garou, Psychics), Politics 1. (7/4) Advantages: : Willpower: 7 : Paths: Clairvoyance: 2, Telepathy: 3. : Backgrounds: Allies 4, Resources 2. : Virtues: Conscience: 3, Courage: 4, Self Control 3 : Banality: 7 : Merits: Corporate Ties 3, Mistress of Red Tape 4. : Flaws: Enemy 3, Obsession 2, Vengeance 2. =Explanation= *New Nature/Demeanor: Evader. ** Similar to the Masquerader, the Evader has something to hide, but they don't revel in being something they're not; they revel in preventing anyone from finding out some truth. This may manifest as someone who enjoys disguises, or simply as someone who avoids answering questions in a straight manner, preferring misdirection or nebulous information to offering anything that could be so easily picked apart. They could be a trickster or a con man; a spy or a deviant. Regain Willpower when you resolve a situation without anyone plucking any useful information from the exchange. Specialties * Appearance ** Timeless: Aya's complexion seems forever youthful. A fortunate situation considering her current persona as a much younger woman. * Perception ** Intuitive: Be it because of her psychic abilities or a natural proclivity, Aya just seems to know things; she can pluck information from thin air, it seems. In a practical sense, she can see beyond the material and discern deeper meaning and connections more easily than most. Backgrounds * Allies 4 ** Very Influential - Albert Singer is an Adren-ranked Philodox Bone Gnawer. He still carries a flame for Aya, but has let her go for now, knowing full well the relationship between them is currently quite strained. ** Very Influential - The Psychic Crew of Insight Industries, but the President (Chase Nixon) in particular. * Resources 2 ** This is all that remains from Aya's previous fortune (and whatever she's currently earning); the rest was used to transform her identity /and/ make her disappear utterly. Merits & Flaws Merits *Corporate Ties **A lot, and I mean a /lot/ of corporations owe Aya personal favors. Being a white collar espionage agent/whistle-blower has made her more friends than one might expect, namely because of good judgment calls on Aya's part. *Mistress of Red Tape **This woman has an enormous amount of contacts in various corporations, institutions, and government agencies. She's quite adept at making paper filter through the system briskly. *To pre-empt the question: Because Aya simply has /so many/ contacts in the bureaucratic landscape, it's ultimately impractical for any seeker agents to try to get to her through them. That is, unless they want to dedicate years going through them all. Flaws *Enemy ** Obviously, Aya has a beef with the Marsh Institute. She will take any and all opportunities to deal that place a crippling blow or a small hurdle, it doesn't matter. *Obsession ** Ever since 'Raz introduced her to the wonders of Psychic exploration, Aya has been addicted. She must learn more. This has obviously already gotten her into trouble. *Vengeance ** The death of 'Raz and her family still weighs heavily on Aya's mind. The day of reckoning for the Marsh Institute's inner cabal will be soon. Advancement ; SLOT 1 (+learn or +teach) * Name: Of Learn/Teach. * To/From: Learner/Teacher. * Approved By: Wizard for Date. * Slot Status: Open (if no Learn) or Locked as of above Date. * Explanation for Learn/Teach goes here. This includes Wizard notes for Teaching attributes to unlock the slot. ; SLOT 2 (+learn or +teach) * Name: Of Learn/Teach. * To/From: Learner/Teacher. * Approved By: Wizard for Date. * Slot Status: Open (if no Learn) or Locked (as of above Date). * Explanation for Learn/Teach goes here. This includes Wizard notes for Teaching attributes to unlock the slot. ; SLOT 3 (+learn or +teach) * Name: Of Learn/Teach. * To/From: Learner/Teacher. * Approved By: Wizard for Date. * Slot Status: Open (if no Learn) or Locked as of above Date. * Explanation for Learn/Teach goes here. This includes Wizard notes for Teaching attributes to unlock the slot. ; SLOT 4 (+learn or +teach) * Name: Of Learn/Teach. * To/From: Learner/Teacher. * Approved By: Wizard for Date. * Slot Status: Open (if no Learn) or Locked (as of above Date). * Explanation for Learn/Teach goes here. This includes Wizard notes for Teaching attributes to unlock the slot. ; Advancement History : * None Logs *See: http://fenrisdf.livejournal.com/ for logs. Thoughts Coming Soon~ Additional Pictures File:Vinaya1.jpg|Profile Full. File:Vinaya2.jpg|Office Tea. File:Vinaya3.jpg|wtf David! File:Vinaya4.jpg|I'm a Rock Star. Freebies *Chargen **+20 to Attributes **+1 to Backgrounds **+7 to Merits **-7 from Flaws ***Total: 21 *Experience **+20 to Abilities **+4 to Willpower ***Subtotal: 24 (+21) ***Total: 45 Category:Current PCs Category:Bone Gnawers